


I Don't Need to be Forgiven

by Notasmuch



Series: Wee!chesters [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Bashing, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-19
Updated: 2011-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:46:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notasmuch/pseuds/Notasmuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are out of food; or how Dean Winchester learned to steal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Need to be Forgiven

**Author's Note:**

> Some bashing of John's parenting skills.
> 
> Sam is 6, Dean is 10

He's not really sure what an apple is doing in the fridge in the first place, but he _is_ sure it's been there since they moved in, weeks ago. From the outside it looks red and Dean thinks it might be possessed because, apples are supposed to rot away. Any other time he might be amused by it, organize a hunt on the evil apple. But now... now the apple is the only thing in the fridge, and it doesn't make him laugh.  
In six hours Sam will be up, getting ready for school, needing breakfast and lunch, and Dean has nothing to give him. Dad was supposed to be back days ago, but he called to say he'd be late. Two more days. Two breakfasts, two lunches and two dinners. He closes the fridge and leans his forehead on the door. Not all that many options really.

**

The house is big and mostly yellow, not that he could tell in the dark. He started watching it three days ago, when he realized the food and money wouldn't hold out. One kid, a girl, and mother. Father was away at the moment, no pets. Far enough even the cops wouldn't be able to find him right away. Still too close though. But it's not like he can go to the other end of the city.

He sneaks in the yard and behind the house. If there is a moon out, clouds are hiding it, he can barely see a thing. He listens to the silent clicks as he opens the lock and then he's in. He notices his hand shaking when he pockets the lockpick and he clenches it to stop. He feels ridiculous taking the groceries bag, made of yellow cloth, from his pants.

 _Just like shopping._

He opens the fridge, flinching at the sound and deadly afraid of the light that bursts out.

 _Veggies, veggies, juice, meat, hot dogs, cheese, milk, more veggies._

He throws in a bottle of milk, hot dogs and cheese and closes the fridge slowly, letting it almost catch his finger before he lets go. Everything else he needs will be higher up but he can't afford to hope nobody will hear him pull a chair.

He's kneeling over the sink, shaking as the cabinet creaks open. Then his eyes go wide. _No way am I this lucky._

He grabs as many spaghettiOs as he can and shoves them in the bag, laying a box of cereal on top of them carefully. He thinks about closing the cabinet but, it's not like they won't know someone robbed them and he wants to get the hell out before they catch him.

He crawls back down wincing at every involuntary sound, and then listens for any movement as he looks for a breadbox. His heart races when he puts what's left of the bread in the bag. He has everything and there are still no sounds, nobody's shouting for him to freeze. He turns to leave, still not believing his luck, when a big yellow jar catches his eye.

 _Cookies._

He bites into his lip. _It's greedy._

If he gets caught now, because of cookies... _but, cookies._

The lid rings like a tiny bell as his shaky hand lifts it.

 _Chocolate chip._

Lid in one hand and bag in the other, he stands there. If he puts the lid down it will make noise; if he puts down the bag he might not pick it up again if he has to run. He's starting to sweat. A bark from outside startles him. The lid drops from his hand on the plastic countertop and the noise is like an explosion around him.

For a second he stands there staring, then he's out, pressing the bag to his chest, cold air pinching his cheeks as he runs without looking back. His steps echo in the silence around him but even louder is the pounding of his heart. He feels like he might throw up but he can't stop running.

When he sees their house he pulls on the last of his strength and runs even faster, slams into the door before he can open it properly and then he's under the table, hugging the bag, listening. He tries not to imagine dogs sniffing after him, people shouting and pointing at the direction he ran off in, but the fear is filling his head with images.

Time passes though, and there are no red and blue lights, no one breaking in with guns pointing at him. Everything is as silent as it was when he left. His breathing slows down eventually. He feels tears biting his eyes and shoves his face in the bag, smell of cheese making him nauseated and he hiccups, but manages to swallow the tears down. He did it. They will be okay.

He's embarrassed as he crawls from under the table, but when he takes the food out and looks at it, something almost like pride starts nudging at him. He did what needed to be done. And more.

 _There's food here for both of us._

He smiles as he puts everything away and even later when he changes for sleep and climbs into bed next to Sammy's.

He still spends whatever is left of the night waking up at every sound and having nightmares when asleep.

Next morning Sammy kicks his foot under the table and they smile at each other over full bowls of Cheerios.

 _Totally worth it._


End file.
